


the light of the night burned bright

by tartymoriarty



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Gen, M/M, Maycury Week, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, brief mention of sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 00:15:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartymoriarty/pseuds/tartymoriarty
Summary: “They, ah.” Brian pauses and clears his throat, stepping aside to let Freddie in properly. “They mixed up the room details, I think.”Freddie looks past him. The lamps aren’t on so all he’s got to see by is the light from the corridor beyond; it takes him a moment to register what Brian means. Their bags have been brought ahead, left at the foot of the bed. The bed, singular.Ah.





	the light of the night burned bright

**Author's Note:**

> Maycury Week day six prompt: 'In the early days when they start out touring, Brian and Freddie share rooms in Holiday Inns. Usually it’s fine but they arrive at their hotel in the city late one night to find there’s only one bed and no other rooms available.'

They’re a bit drunk when they arrive at the hotel – it’s nothing special but Freddie is aware that _Queen_ aren’t yet big enough for him to justify pitching a rockstar fit about the level of luxury the band deserves. He is looking forward to the first time he can do that, though; he imagines it’s quite the thrill.

He’s not drunk enough to be crawling into the hotel, just pleasantly buzzing. The show went well, people responding positively to the new tracks they’ve been slipping into the setlist; Freddie can still hear faint ringing in his ears from the pounding of Roger’s drum and the whoops of the crowd. He loves it, completely, and he’s actually starting to believe himself when he insists that they’re going to make it big. A headlining tour isn’t something to be sniffed at and so far their first one is going better than he’d dared hope.

Reid hurries on ahead of them and sets about checking them in; Freddie has a wander around and examines the potted plants dotted about with no particular interest whilst Roger and Brian have a hissed argument about who is sharing with who.

“I’m sharing with Freddie,” Brian insists, “I always share with Freddie, you’re not foisting John off on me just because – ”

“Let’s draw straws for it!”

“_No_, Rog! You and Deaky, me and Freddie!”

For a moment, Freddie is torn between being pleased at how in demand he is, and being outraged on Deaky’s behalf. He returns to the two of them, half-tempted to insist that _he_ will share with John if they’re going to be so callous about it, but Brian grabs him before he can say a word. He sweeps Freddie under his arm and holds him there.

“I’m sharing with Freddie,” Brian repeats firmly. “Right, Fred?”

Freddie doesn’t reply immediately; he’s finally caught sight of Deaky over on the other side of the reception. He’s sitting on the floor clutching a rubbish bin, looking decidedly green.

Now, Freddie likes to think of himself as a very caring person. He is, truly. And he makes a point of looking after Deaky as best he can in most situations because Deaky is the baby of the band and Freddie does have mother hen tendencies.

In _Queen’s_ first support tour with Mott, however, Freddie became all too accustomed to the horror that is sharing a room with a drunk and their sick bucket. It is not an experience he is keen to repeat if he can help it.

“Sorry, Rog, darling,” he says, still staring at Deaky. “I’m sharing with Brian.”

Brian gives him a victorious little squeeze. Roger glares at him but huffs, stalking to the front to collect his key card. Deaky has lifted his head out of the rubbish bin and is looking around at the hotel like he can’t quite remember how he got there. Freddie feels a pang of concern.

“Is he okay?” he asks worriedly. “How much did he drink? Does he need to go to hospital because I saw a sign when we came in that said there’s one just – ”

“He’ll be fine, Freddie,” Brian soothes, giving him another squeeze. “He just mixed his drinks a bit too much tonight, you know how he gets. Roger will look after him.”

“He’d better,” grumbles Freddie.

“You could always swap with him?” Brian suggests.

“No thank you,” Freddie says quickly. He notices Brian’s grin even as he turns away to hide it and prods Brian in the side. “Smirk away, but you literally lassoed me with your great long arms to get out of that.”

“I did,” Brian says cheerfully. He steers them to the reception desk after Roger, his arm still snug around Freddie’s shoulders. Freddie doesn’t make a move to slip free. Brian is warm and solid next to him. It's nice.

“Mercury and May,” the receptionist says. “Room 104. Do you need two key cards?”

“One is fine, thank you.” Brian picks up the card and pockets it.

The receptionist’s eyes flicker between the two of them as they step aside. She doesn’t say anything, just sets about sorting out Ratty and Crystal’s room, but something about her gaze makes Freddie step away from Brian all the same. Brian glances at him quizzically but doesn’t mention it, just leads the way to their room.

They find Roger guiding John into a room just a few doors down from their own, so Freddie gets his chance to fuss, cradling Deaky’s face between his hands and instructing Roger to come and fetch him and Brian if he needs any help at all (Brian pulls a bit of a face, but quickly smooths out his expression when Freddie glares at him).

“Thanks, Eddie,” Deaky mumbles.

Brian’s mouth twitches at that. “Come on, Eddie,” he says. “Night, Rog. Good luck.”

Freddie gives Roger a commiserating pat before following Brian down the corridor to their room. He leans against the doorframe and yawns as Brian unlocks the door.

“Tired?” Brian asks.

“Not sure,” Freddie says honestly. It’s hard to tell, sometimes, after a show; he still feels high from the energy of the crowd, but a heaviness is beginning to creep in at the edges, his body admitting that it’s tired out from three hours of nonstop movement whilst his mind protests that it never wants to rest, ever.

Brian just smiles at him like he understands. He opens the door to the room and lets them in, but stops one step inside, making Freddie bump into him.

“Oh, sorry, darling,” he says absently, putting a hand on Brian’s back to steady himself. Brian doesn’t move though, and Freddie frowns. “Brian?”

“They, ah.” Brian pauses and clears his throat, stepping aside to let Freddie in properly. “They mixed up the room details, I think.”

Freddie looks past him. The lamps aren’t on so all he’s got to see by is the light from the corridor beyond; it takes him a moment to register what Brian means. Their bags have been brought ahead, left at the foot of the bed. The _bed_, singular.

Ah.

Their shared rooms tend to have two single beds in them; they’re almost inevitably too short for Brian and they remind Freddie a bit too much of boarding school, but they make do. This one is a double bed and it does look more comfortable than the ones they’re used to, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s just one bed and two of them.

Freddie remembers the receptionist’s eyes flickering between them and bites his lip. “Oh,” he says.

“Yeah.”

Brian doesn’t say anything else. He’s still got his back to Freddie; Freddie looks up at him and wishes he could see his expression, then is suddenly glad that he can’t. He would hate to think that Brian looks uncomfortable. A bit put out, yes, but not uncomfortable. Not at the thought of sharing a bed with Freddie.

Before Freddie can let that thought fester into something hot and embarrassed in the pit of his stomach, Brian gives a little laugh and shakes his head, walking over to the lamps to turn them on. “Well, I suppose I did insist on having this room, not the one with the drunk bassist in it,” he says dryly.

Freddie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He closes the door behind himself, then goes over to his own heaped belongings, searching for his toiletries bag. “At least we’ve got more room than the time we all fell asleep together at the back of that tour bus,” he points out. He’d woken up that day with Roger more or less completely on top of him, Deaky’s elbow lodged in his side and Brian’s hair tickling his nose. It had not been the most comfortable experience of his life.

Brian chuckles at the memory, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Quite comfy,” he allows. “Definitely better than the bus.”

“I hope you’re going to fold up those ridiculous legs of yours, darling, I don’t want them kicking me in the night.”

“You say that like I’m a bloody puppet. I hope you are going to keep your comments to yourself, I’ve never known anyone talk so much in their sleep.”

Freddie pulls a face at him – it’s _embarrassing_, sleep talking like he does, because by the time he stirs he never knows if he’s said something completely nonsensical (embarrassing in its own right) or if he’s spilled his deepest secrets (even more unappealing). Brian just grins at him, so Freddie huffs and grabs his toiletries bag, heading for the bathroom.

He took most of his stage make-up off when the show ended, but there’s still traces of eyeliner and Freddie is fastidious about his skincare routine. He takes his time doing that and then when he tests the shower and finds out there’s still some hot water, he decides to hop in. He washes and conditions his hair and luxuriates in the feeling of warm water running down his spine. He loves touring, he does, but there’s a certain griminess to living life between hotel rooms and tour buses and it’s not Freddie’s favourite thing.

By the time he’s out of the shower, towel round his waist and toothbrush in hand, Brian is banging on the door.

“Freddie, you’ve been ages!”

Freddie spits out his toothpaste. “I’m nearly done, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he shouts back.

He can _sense_ Brian sulking through the door, so he finishes brushing his teeth and then opens the door. Brian is leaning against the wall next to the door and fixes him with a glare as soon as he steps out. Freddie just smiles sweetly and steps past him.

He gets changed into his pyjamas whilst Brian is in the bathroom (navy faux silk, though he’s determined to get the real thing just as soon as they make a little bit of money), then hangs up the clothes he’s just taken off.

When Brian comes out of the bathroom, Freddie holds up the bottle of wine he’s just found stashed in one of his bags. “Shall we?”

Brian smiles. “Why not?”

-

Half a bottle of wine later, Freddie’s pleasant post-show buzz has descended into something resembling tipsiness, and he can’t seem to stop giggling at every little thing.

It’s okay, though, because Brian isn’t faring much better. He’s got out the Scrabble board and they’re not playing so much as spelling out as many rude words as they can with the letter tiles in a chaotic heap all around them, but it’s fun.

Freddie, lying on his stomach with his nose almost touching the board, has to concentrate very hard to put down what he’s sure is his best hand yet: ROGERSTITTIES. They laugh about it for far longer than it deserves, and then Brian knocks the wine bottle over when he reaches out for another tile; it’s at that point that they actually notice that the wine bottle is empty.

“We should go to bed,” Brian says.

“Mmm,” says Freddie. He’s rolled over onto his back and is staring up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the cracks in the paintwork. He can feel the wine fogging his brain, but it’s not unpleasant, though his eyes are beginning to droop.

Despite Brian’s words, he makes no move to get up and go to bed; he stays where he is, sitting next to Freddie and leaning against the bed. He’s looking up at the ceiling too, when Freddie glances at him, trying to see whatever it is Freddie is looking at.

Freddie reaches out and pats his leg. “Lie down with me, darling.”

Brian does, flicking a Scrabble tile out of the way as he settles himself down on his back beside Freddie. They lie side-by-side on the scratchy hotel carpet and stare up at the ceiling, lit dimly by lamplight.

“What are we looking at?” Brian asks.

Freddie points up at faint crack in the ceiling. “The constellation of Aries,” he says, in what he hopes are mystical tones.

He feels Brian’s gaze side slideways to bore into him in silence and fights off the urge to grin.

“And there we have… Jupiter,” Freddie continues, pointing at a paint smudge. There’s a spider in the corner, so he points at that next and adds, knowledgably, “Orion’s belt.”

There’s another beat of silence. Freddie looks sideways to meet Brian’s gaze slyly.

“It’s killing you to not to tell me how full of bullshit I am, isn’t it?”

“Oh no, no. I’m blown away by your stargazing skills,” Brian says, deadpan.

“Mercury,” Freddie says with relish, pointing at the lightbulb.

Brian scoffs. “I think that has to be the sun.” He pauses, then says, “And now I know it really is time for bed, because you’ve got me joining in. Come on.”

He gets up and holds out a hand to Freddie, who takes it without complaint and lets Brian pull him to his feet.

He’d forgotten about sharing the bed, to be honest, what with the wine and the alternative game of Scrabble, but Brian doesn’t give him any time to feel awkward about it. He gets in on the side nearest the door and folds back the duvet for Freddie.

Freddie pretends to simper at him. “Oh lovie, thanks ever so.”

Brian just rolls his eyes, getting himself comfortable as Freddie gets in beside him. It’s not the biggest double bed in the world, so there’s not much room once they’re both in. Freddie resists the urge to wrap his arms around himself, to try and make himself smaller; there’s no point, and he’s quite a lot smaller than Brian as it is.

“Sorry if I talk to you,” he says, sincerely. “Just ignore me.”

“I like it when you talk in your sleep,” Brian says, unexpectedly, “it’s – it’s funny.”

Freddie gets the distinct impression ‘funny’ hadn’t been his first choice of word, but he’s too sleepy and ever so slightly too drunk to question it. “You make it sound like we sleep together all the time,” he says.

“Is that was this is?” Brian asks.

Freddie blinks at him. Brian is grinning and it takes Freddie a moment to register that he’s being teased, and by then Brian is already reaching around to turn his lamp off.

“Night, Freddie,” he says around a yawn.

Freddie follows suit and switches his lamp off, bathing the room in darkness. There’s a chink of moonlight coming in through the curtains, giving just enough light for Freddie to make out the shape of Brian, rolling over onto his side to face away from him.

“Goodnight, darling,” Freddie murmurs. He doesn’t quite trust himself not to accidentally spoon Brian whilst he sleeps, so he rolls over and puts his back to Brian, too.

He’s tired and it’s late, but it takes him longer to fall asleep than he anticipated.

-

Freddie wakes slowly to late morning sunshine streaming through the gap in the threadbare curtains. It takes him a long time to actually become aware of his surroundings; for a while he just lies there, heavy-limbed and sleep-warm, eyes just barely cracked open to watch patterns of dust swirl lazily in the rectangle of sunlight highlighted along the carpet and the foot of the bed.

As consciousness makes more of an effort to return, Freddie notes three things. One: there’s a weight on his hip that was not there when he fell asleep. Two: someone’s face is buried in his shoulder, still fast asleep and breathing rhythmically behind him. Three: there’s a cock pressed up against his ass, and it’s hard.

It takes Freddie a moment to put these three things together with the fact that he’s sharing a bed with Brian. His eyes fly open properly when he realises it’s _Brian’s_ erection he can feel nestled against his backside.

A glance down confirms that the weight on his hip is Brian’s arm, flung out over Freddie, keeping him tucked up close. Freddie squirms a bit without thinking, then freezes when Brian sighs behind him and moves too, his arm tightening around Freddie. Unconsciously, his hips rock just slightly, seeking more of Freddie’s warmth. Freddie very manfully does not whimper.

He isn’t at all sure what he should do. He knows it’s normal, knows it doesn’t mean anything, and yet – doesn’t it? To Freddie? He’s not blind, Brian is so beautiful it’s almost otherworldly, and Freddie… well. He notices things like that.

He can’t help the interest his own body is taking in the feeling of Brian pressed against him like this, but he doesn’t want to take advantage of Brian when he’s asleep. He goes to whisper Brian’s name, to try and gently wake him, but Brian gets there first.

“Mmm, s’nice,” Brian sighs into Freddie’s neck.

Freddie’s brow furrows. What’s nice? God, does Brian think Freddie is some _girl_ he’s got in his bed?

“Bri?” Freddie whispers.

Brian just squeezes him tighter and sighs again. His body is warm and so much longer than Freddie’s; Freddie can feel the way Brian’s legs are tucked up under him, his knees nudging against the back of Freddie’s thighs.

Freddie would very much like to lie here a while longer and just enjoy the feeling of Brian May spooning him, but something about it feels off when he knows Brian is asleep and dreaming of someone else in his arms. He rolls over – with difficulty, because Brian’s grip is not particularly loose – which brings him face-to-face with Brian.

This close up, Freddie can see each of Brian’s eyelashes individually. He can see a little scar on his jaw. There’s an errant curl falling over Brian’s forehead and Freddie wants to brush it away, but he stops himself. It’s not his place.

“Bri,” Freddie whispers again.

Brian frowns in his sleep and mumbles something nonsensical, but Freddie brings a hand up and places it on Brian’s chest to stop Brian when he tries to just cuddle Freddie in even closer. It’s only a light touch but it seems to get through to Brian; his frown deepens and then he cracks his eyes open just slightly.

“Freddie?” he murmurs. He still looks and sounds half asleep.

Freddie goes to say something – _good morning, dear_ or _Brian, you can stop cuddling me now_ – but something about the way Brian is looking at him stops him.

He doesn’t look _surprised_. That’s the thing. He’s woken up with Freddie in his arms, their faces almost touching, and he’s not confused by it at all.

Unbidden, Freddie remembers the way Brian sighed into his neck and held him close. He wonders, for a mad moment, if Brian _hadn’t_ been dreaming of a girl in his bed.

He’s still not replied to Brian and Brian is blinking at him, looking more lucid at the second, so Freddie gives him a quick smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Brian repeats. He seems to become aware that his arms are still tangled around Freddie; he leans back with a muttered apology, putting some space in between them.

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Freddie says. He takes advantage of the fact that Brian has finally let him go and slides out of bed. He has a stretch and then pads over to the tarnished old kettle sitting on the chest of drawers in the corner. There are two mugs and a rather sorry-looking collection of teabags with small cartons of milk. No Earl Greys, sadly, but Freddie will take what he can get. He flicks the kettle on. “Do you want a drink?”

“Please,” says Brian. He’s sitting up, back to the headboard, and eyeing Freddie with something akin to caution. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby. I haven’t been awake very long,” Freddie says, because he feels like that’s what Brian is really asking.

Brian just nods. He’s being a little bit awkward and Freddie doesn’t like that, doesn’t want it, so he perches on the corner of the chest of drawers and flashes Brian a grin. “I thought I was going to be the cuddly one, darling, but you beat me to it.”

Brian pulls a face. “I’m not normally like that, I don’t know why I…”

That trails off into nothing between them. Freddie pours hot water over the teabags.

“You didn’t sleep talk, anyway,” Brian says, in a careful sort of tone, and then he adds, fake-casual, “Did I?”

Freddie turns away from him to add milk to their mugs, and also to hide his smile.

“Not that I heard,” he lies.

When he turns around to give Brian his tea, he looks relieved – but he’s also very pointedly not looking at Freddie.

Interesting.

They don’t have all that long to lounge around; they can already hear the sound of the crew getting ready to leave and the tour bus is doubtless half-loaded already. They drink their tea and make idle chat, laughing to each other about Roger and Deaky and wondering just how grumpy Roger is going to be about it today.

They’ll get ready properly at the next venue, so it doesn’t take either of them long to have a quick wash and pull on some clean clothes. Then it’s time to pack their bags, check they’ve not left anything behind, and go.

Freddie has one last quick look around the room before he closes the door behind himself and hurries down the corridor after Brian.

God, he hopes they’re sharing again at the next hotel.


End file.
